


Didn't Come to Free Slaves

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Blind Character (Intentionally Blinded Not In This Story but In the Past), Discussion of Off-Screen Torture, Dubious Consent, Emasculated Character (Again in the Past), Eventual Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Flogging (Nonsexual), Graphic Description of Oral Rape, Iron Collar and Cuffs Inflicting Chafing Wounds, M/M, Mild Blood, Slavery, Vague Discussion of Past Anal Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-06 01:03:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: It's been too long since Obi-Wan Kenobi died. Qui-Gon misses him like he would a limb, like he would his soul... but nothing can be done, and Qui-Gon's own life stretches on ahead of him. He feels like he's lived a long time, while Obi-Wan was barely into adulthood before his life was taken away.Rumors of a strong Force-sensitive child have dragged him here, to an outlier world deep in Wild Space far outside the Republic, into a palace that resembled a fortress, owned by Jelcen, notorious throughout the region for his cruelty and wealth. Qui-Gon's cover story of being a petty lord from a planet called Serenno seems to be holding. He's been welcomed in to revel with the other guests present, to eat, drink, whatever suits him...He just wants to find the child, prove the rumors wrong, and go home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Possibility of Being](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223394) by [chains_archivist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist). 
  * Inspired by [Only Remember Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223370) by [chains_archivist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist). 



> This is a 3 part story with an epilogue, all of which is written and complete, and I'll be posting it a chapter at a time.

 

A low grunt caught Qui-Gon's attention, drew it to a corner of the room.

He recognized the slaver. He wasn't the most valued guest at this gathering, but he was far from the least important. With a body that could have been borrowed from the statue of a god, he was easy on the eyes.

_If_ you ignored the cold disregard for his fellow creatures in the eyes, and the putrid stench that surrounded him in the Force, despite his rigorous hygiene.

Right now, the brutal eyes were glazed, his ring-covered fingers fisted in a young man's hair.

Little more than a boy, really. Kneeling. Back to Qui-Gon. Hands braced on the slaver's hips. Not making a hint of protest as the man twice his age slammed repeatedly down his throat.

The boy's bare shoulders, gaunt from abuse, quivered in misery.

Qui-Gon's soul hurt.

The slave was young.

And he had the same shade of hair as Obi-Wan.

_As Obi-Wan had,_ Qui-Gon corrected himself. He wanted to save the slave. Not just for the broken being's own sake, but because he  _hadn't_ been able to save his Padawan.

The boy he'd loved was dead. Twenty-three years of life was all he'd had, all he'd get. There was nothing Qui-Gon could do about it.

It made the urge to save  _this_ one even stronger.

But he had a mission, and if all went well, he could release more than just this boy.

Patience.

Even as he heard the hissed verbal abuse, the mocking, the degradation.

As he heard the slaver's friends chime in.

As he heard the boy choke against the deepthroating.

Qui-Gon squeezed his eyes shut.

There was too much.

A young Twi'lek woman sat on another guest's lap, back arched and trembling, sweat glistening across her heaving ribcage, beading along her brow. Her eyes had the look of one drugged, and she seemed far past caring about being taken while surrounded by a roomful of people. Whimpers of pleasure escaped her as she rocked.

Elsewhere another young male had been draped over a couch back, and was being viciously claimed from behind. His whimpers were of pain, and Qui-Gon could sense it, sharp, cruel, and far, far too familiar for the abused one.

Another slave carrying drinks to the guests, intentionally tripped and then kicked for having spilled liquid across the floor. Laughter like jabbing spears as she tried to clean the mess, hindered by continuous shoving from mirth-filled spectators.

How much more of this kind of cruelty could he take? Behind him, dancers, all but naked, did their best to please, and had the simplest of options. Accept the hands that dragged across their bodies and pretend to want it, or be turned over to the guards for the night.

The slavers might be cruel.

Their dogs? Something worse.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes. He had to stay focused.

His attention caught again on the slave on his knees.

A narrow cord around his waist draped a thin, near-translucent fabric down his front, undoubtedly revealing more than it concealed.

There was no such mockery for his rear.

His knees were splayed to try to stabilize him against his abuser's aggressions.

It revealed yet another cruelty.

He'd been gelded. Not just cut, but the sac _removed_.

It made Qui-Gon wonder if someone had lost their temper. Usually slavers would prepare so their merchandise wouldn't end up less valuable than before.

_Someone was angry, and didn't care._

Qui-Gon drew in a deep breath to steady himself.

He couldn't end the slave-trade today. Not today.

_Someday_ , perhaps.

His gaze traced the vicious collar clamped around his neck, and the Jedi thought he could see a blade protruding from it  _into_ the boy's flesh.

And then the slaver pulled away and came all over the slave's face, to the delight of his pals.

Qui-Gon saw the slave's shoulders and head jolt with shock, but he made no move to escape, and no hint of protest.

With a last few sneered taunts, the slaver pushed the boy and walked off, followed by his friends.

The slave reeled back and away, reaching out with a hand to catch himself against the floor.

Qui-Gon nearly had to do the same.

Sightless eyes.

Eyes he  _knew._

A  _face_ he knew.

He stared in horror, sure he saw a ghost.

“See something you like?”

Qui-Gon nearly jumped as the host, Jelcen, clapped a hand on his shoulder.

The man was as tall as the Jedi, and as broad across the shoulders. Maybe even a little bigger.

“He's definitely a looker, that one. And a fighter. Kept trying to escape, trying to start a revolt among the slaves. We gelded him, thought it would take the edge off the fire, but it wasn't enough. Not even blinding tamed him.”

Qui-Gon listened in silence as he watched one of the servers slightly brush a damp cloth against Obi-Wan's shoulder with a low-murmured word.

Obi-Wan kept his face blank, but Qui-Gon could sense his gratitude. The solidarity between the two. He took the towel and started trying to clean his face, hands shaking, just a little.

“You won't believe this, but he was a virgin when brought in. Hadn't done  _anything_ with  _anybody._ He's in his early twenties, has the stamina of a beast of burden. He can take whatever anybody has to give all night long. When I gave the order to take his sight, I warned them, I told them if they damaged those orbs, they were going to pay in blood. You can see what a beautiful job they did. Kept the color, the texture.”

Somehow,  _somehow_ Qui-Gon didn't kill him on the spot.

“Get this— he's one of those monks from the Republic. A Jeeda, or whatever they're called. He took out several of my men by throwing them across the room. Didn't lay a finger on them. The collar's taken care of that. His scream is delicious, can I tell you. He kept it up for hours once the collar was locked on. Rumor is it makes connecting to their magic excruciating, so they find ways to cut themselves off from it. Not like anybody would actually  _know_ if it's true or not. I  _can_ tell you he was enjoyable to train. Oh, the  _defiance_ . You wouldn't expect much physical strength in him— you can see his arms and chest, there. But he's a scrappy little things. Fought to the end. Every time.”

Qui-Gon bit his tongue so hard it bled.

“The pain wouldn't slow him, the collar didn't slow him, so I made good on my threats. He spent many nights with the guards. I warned them that if they left a permanent mark on him, I was going to take the entire shift and geld them all, who cares who was responsible.”

Why wouldn't the man shut  _up_ ? Please, please shut up?

“He would be unconscious by morning. In need of serious care. And yet he'd keep on fighting me the next time, even though he knew a repeat would come. That spirit just would  _not_ bend. At first it was amusing, but it became a bit tiresome. Especially after he set fire to the kitchen. The drugs didn't slow him down, didn't matter what we tried. They seemed to burn out of his system too fast. So like I said: we gelded him. And then blinded him. And beat him. Thank the universe for bacta; his back cleans up without a hint of the lashes he takes. Jett finally had the bright idea of threatening the other slaves. After all, the kid's a monk, right? Taken some oath to protect people? So we killed one of the weak ones who wouldn't have made it more than a couple months anyway, and told him that every time he misbehaved, another would go. He's been as compliant as anything since. He's a quick learner.  _Very_ good with that tongue. And he's so,  _so_ tight, even after he's been ripped so many times.”

Qui-Gon's stomach convulsed. He kept his face passive, managed to stem the flow of bile—

His host completely misinterpreted his body's hitch.

A grin spread over his face. “Let's take care of that. Magic boy!”

Obi-Wan's face turned towards the voice. Qui-Gon could sense his internal shudder.

The image of a man that size tearing into his Padawan nearly drove Qui-Gon mad.

_Never again,_ he promised, even though he knew he was powerless to carry it out.

One of the servers snagged the finely-tooled chain attached to the collar and yanked Obi-Wan to his feet.

Qui-Gon saw,  _felt_ the excruciating twist of metal fused to bone.

Holy Force, it  _did_ invade him.

This wouldn't be something that could just be taken  _off._ Without intensive facilities and a surgeon who knew what they were doing, who knew what permanent damage might be inflicted in the attempt to release him?

Blood whispered down his pale, creamy throat, and his breath shivered in over his lips with pain. A sight that likely excited his abusers. The server dragged him forward, Obi-Wan taking hesitant steps, unable to sense if his path was clear.

His bare foot brushed against the broken glass, and he grit his teeth, steering clear of it.

His eyes were still their beautiful blue, but so empty. So hopeless.

The server left him standing before the host, and moved on, wriggling happily as one of the guests groped his ass.

Padawan braid and tail had been taken from Obi-Wan. His jaw was shaved to a silky smooth, and there wasn't a hint of hair along his body. Except for the ribs that pressed firmly against his skin, clearly defined, there was no hint of the abuse he'd been suffering for the past months. Apparently they took care to heal him, and they certainly made sure he had the best skincare possible. He couldn't have applied the makeup to his  _own_ face.

No expenses were being spared in his upkeep.

He was a prize, and he looked it.

Rings in his nipples, another piercing in his cock. Opportunities for torture.

Not like many extra were needed.

Qui-Gon had no doubt he could drive a room insane with desire whether the audience was male or female.

Obi-Wan stood there in silence, waiting for directions.

With no idea his Master stood before him.

Qui-Gon's heart tightened, and he could barely breathe.

“Suck him off,” the host ordered, a light pressure on Obi-Wan's shoulder. The Padawan obeyed it, angling towards Qui-Gon and dropping to his knees. “And you'll be staying in his room tonight.”  
“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan purred.

Qui-Gon could sense the knife in Obi-Wan's heart, his sheer revulsion at having to address that monster with a word so sacred.

And a helplessness, a hopelessness, he'd never sensed in a lifeform before.

With Jelcen watching as Obi-Wan's fingers traced down his stomach to find the fly of his pants, Qui-Gon shifted away from him, towards the host. He whispered the first thing that came to mind, in a tone low enough Obi-Wan couldn't hear, “I prefer women. Exclusively.”

_Take the bait, please take the bait,_ he urged Jelcen. The man had too strong a mind to submit to a mind-trick. He'd found that out earlier.

“Don't worry,” the host chuckled. “You won't be able to tell the difference. He's  _better._ ”

If he sprang Obi-Wan out  _now_ , could they reach the ship in time?

No.

A resounding no.

They'd be cornered. Qui-Gon would have to fight with whatever he could get his hands on, Obi-Wan's condition not lending him to being very effective, and Qui-Gon had spotted the ysalamiri dotting the hallways. He was lucky there weren't any close enough right  _here_ .

That was  _not_ the case elsewhere.

If Qui-Gon was taken, Obi-Wan would have  _no one_ to save him.

And if he raised suspicions, they would simply escort him to the door and out. He'd never be allowed back in.

And they'd be watching for his return.

This group was too elite, too secretive for them  _not_ to notice.

So when Obi-Wan relocated him with lightly questing hands, Qui-Gon stood still. And as he lifted the heavy cock free from his pants, Qui-Gon shut down his mind.

_He will never forgive me._ I  _will never forgive me._

It was humiliating to feel himself harden against Obi-Wan's ministrations.

And then Qui-Gon couldn't breathe.

The man watching every second of this had been right.

His Padawan had a very gifted,  _very_ gifted tongue.

He shivered in pleasure, and Obi-Wan felt it.

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's cautious hope. That maybe he would be able to please tonight.

Maybe he wouldn't be left with the guards. The desperate fear of those brutes burned through the Force like acid. Vague images flashed through their bond of some of the things they'd done to him.

Qui-Gon grit his teeth as his head snapped forward. It was all he could do to not grab Obi-Wan's head and rut into his mouth. His fingers buried themselves in Obi-Wan's thick hair, massaging his scalp in response to the reason-killing pleasure shooting up through his body.

Obi-Wan urged, teased, coaxed. Qui-Gon could feel how close he was—

And then Obi-Wan swallowed him down the whole way, humming as he went.

Qui-Gon, so ready and so not expecting Obi-Wan's skill, came. He tried to back away, but thin, strong fingers held his hips in place and his apprentice swallowed his come.

When Obi-Wan pulled back, just a hint of white bled down the corner of his mouth. He swept it up with his fingers, then sucked the liquid from the digits with a slow, showy leisure.

Horrified, Qui-Gon felt his gut churn.

Obi-Wan tucked the length of him back into his trousers.

“Told you he was good,” the host beamed proudly. “He'll be there for you when you retire for the night.”

Qui-Gon couldn't handle keeping his cover for a second longer if he remained in this room, so he sent the host an arched eyebrow and hard glint in his eye.

The host laughed in delight, clapped him on the shoulder again, and handed the lead to a waiting server, yanking on it before letting go.

Obi-Wan gasped in pain and rose obediently to his feet.

“Take him back to Lala, tell him to doll him up right, and then be taken  _immediately_ to Friend Ebel's new bedchamber. He's retiring, early as it is. Isn't that right, Ebel?”

Qui-Gon managed an agreeing smirk.

“He'll be with you before you know it. You'll be surprised what he can take. Don't be afraid to let him have it. Isn't that right, Magic Toy?”

“Yes, Master.” Again, that sultry tone Qui-Gon had heard twice now, and that he already hated with all his heart.

Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan's hesitant steps in response to the guiding leash took him away.

Saw other guests wolfishly eyeing his exit, so many jealous glances Qui-Gon's way for having won Jelcen's favor.

They saw Obi-Wan as a prize, or some fancy desert.

_He's a person,_ he thought at the savages, and with a nod to the host, he retreated to his room.

He swept it and the adjoining refresher for bugs or cams. He found none.

Apparently his cover was holding solid.

He paced the room, impatient, sick.

_How_ to get Obi-Wan out of here...

And how to face him after what had happened downstairs.

None of his ideas on either front were feeling very solid.

A knock at the door had him rushing for it.

The door slid open to reveal Obi-Wan, kneeling, knees spread wide apart, hands brushing limply against the floor, and his head tilted back, lips parted and eyes open. All signs of dishevelment had been cleared away. He looked clean, new, and so, so surrendered.

A servant handed the chain to a speechless Qui-Gon. “Is there anything else you require, sir?”

He shook his head. The woman, a matronly, middle-aged soul gave Obi-Wan a grieved, pitying glance before walking steadfastly away.

Qui-Gon didn't have time to consider the care she'd shown him.

He didn't want to tug even lightly on the chain. Instead, he placed his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, silently urged him up and into the room.

Closing and locking the door behind them, he started to turn but felt a hand whispering over his shoulder.

“How may I serve you, my Master?” Obi-Wan murmured, his voice sultry. “What do you want to do to me?” A hoarse rasp in his voice traced a shiver of cold down Qui-Gon's back.

“I want to get you out of here,” Qui-Gon said, turning around.

Obi-Wan's face went from seductive to shocked hope. “ _Qui-Gon!_ ”

Qui-Gon found thin, strong arms clenched around his shoulders, Obi-Wan's face buried in his neck, the Padawan's tears burning his skin.

Qui-Gon held him close, squeezing his eyes shut against his own tears. “I thought you were dead.”

“I've done things, you'd be so ashamed of me—” Obi-Wan choked.

Qui-Gon tightened his embrace. “ _No,_ Obi-Wan. You survived. You survived, and you tried to help others survive. I'm only proud of you.”

“I knew if I could just hold on long enough, I knew you would come for me.”

Qui-Gon's heart stuttered at the avowal. “I— the evidence for your death was overwhelming. And I couldn't sense you in the Force. You were  _gone._ The Council sent me here on a mission. I was shocked to recognize you.”

Obi-Wan pulled back, reaching up his hand to touch Qui-Gon's face to try to read his expression. Qui-Gon held still for it, his heart breaking.

Obi-Wan. Unable to see... unable to sense.

Reduced to physical touch and what his ears could discern.

“What is your mission?”

“The mission can wait. I'm getting you out of here. _Tonight._ ”

Obi-Wan's smile faltered. “What about the others?”  
“What others?”

“The other slaves.”

“We'll go home, figure out a plan, and come back.”  
Obi-Wan could hear the false ring in his tone. His Padawan took a step away from him, blind eyes searching. “No.”

Qui-Gon's heart skipped a beat. “ _No_ ?”

“The day you get them  _all_ out is the day I'll leave.”

“That's unreasonable, Obi-Wan. I can't create and implement an escape plan for  _all_ of them for  _tonight._ You can't help them here. Come home, and you can figure something else out. Get other knights to help.”

“You're wrong. Right now, I'm the favorite. If I disappear, who do you think the task of main pleasurer will fall to? And after there's been one escape,  _my_ escape, security is going to tighten. The burden on these people is already close to the breaking point. I am  _not_ going to see it made heavier, or their freedom harder to achieve.”

“Obi-Wan, as your Master I order you—”

“No.” Obi-Wan held his head up, his vacant eyes aimed in Qui-Gon's general direction. “I will  _not_ leave them behind. It's only a trick of fate that I have a Jedi who is invested in my escape. The others don't have anyone coming for them, Qui-Gon.  _No one is coming for them._ I'm not leaving them. When they're free,  _then_ I'll walk away, and not a moment sooner.”

“Do you realize it's going to take me  _days_ to come up with the people, resources, and plan necessary for an operation of that scale?” Qui-Gon hissed. “ _Days_ where they're abusing you.  _Raping_ you.”

“I've endured two years of it so far,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “A few more days isn't going to corrupt me further than I've already been.”

“But what if they—”

“Any way you end that sentence, it's already been done to me. I've been forced to pleasure people while they drained my blood, broke my bones, tore out my hair; I've been choked, nearly drowned, burned, flogged, humiliated in almost every way. I have learned how to endure. I will endure it a little longer.”

Qui-Gon felt unspeakable frustration towards him along with hints of pride.

_He's so selfless, unlike me._

Had this happened to Qui-Gon at this age, he couldn't imagine  _not_ taking Dooku up on his offer of immediate escape.

_Then again, Dooku might have left me there._

No...

No.

He wouldn't have. To have lost a Padawan that way would have been to suggest Dooku wasn't powerful enough to do something about it. And if there was one thing  _more_ important to Dooku than his ego, it was—

His... ego.

Dooku had always been the most important part of Dooku's existence.

Obi-Wan was exactly the opposite.

And Qui-Gon...

Somewhere between the two.

Selfish enough he was seriously considering hauling Obi-Wan out of here, willing or not, and not giving a kark what happened to the other slaves in the wake of his actions.

“Don't override me, Master,” Obi-Wan whispered. “I am allowed to make so few decisions now. Respect me, please.”

Qui-Gon melted.

“ _Kark,_ Obi-Wan.” He could sense his Padawan's relief. His gratitude.

“Thank you.”

“But you're going to tell me all about this place. I want every spec, every number, every weakness and approach, servants movements and guard habits.”  
“Those I can give you.”

“And I also want to have a look at your wounds.”  
Obi-Wan waved his hand. “There is nothing. Not tonight. And they always make sure my injuries heal.”  
“You don't _look_ healed. You look half-starved.”

“The people here... like it that way. Don't worry, they make sure I receive the nutrients I need. If I didn't, my performance would start to waver. They are very careful to avoid that at all costs.”

Qui-Gon had to grit his teeth to keep from snarling, though he wasn't sure why he bothered to refrain.

What he _did_ say was, “Well, you're going to get a solid night's sleep. I'm going to take the couch, you get the bed.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Obi-Wan seemed to curl in on himself, though he held his head defiantly high. The image seared into Qui-Gon's brain, bleeding his heart. “I— they perform exams. Every morning after I've been with a client.”

Qui-Gon waited, feeling disquiet start to build.

“If we haven't— they'll know. They will want to know why. And they will— turn me over to the guards.”

Qui-Gon stared at him in horror. “Even if I assured them you met my demands and I gave you a glowing recommendation?”

“It won't matter,” Obi-Wan whispered. “There was a kind young woman who requested me, knowing her father would angle for me later. She spared me his vicious cruelty, and spent the evening talking with me. I slept alone. She and her father continued their journey in the morning after she assured my masters of her satisfaction. And then the exam— and I—”

He shuddered, the color draining from his skin. “The guards, they—”

“You don't have to talk about it,” Qui-Gon assured him, broken over Obi-Wan's obvious struggle to communicate.

“Please don't let them do that to me again,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Sweet fripping Force.

“What would be the least that we could get away with?”

Obi-Wan hesitated, then seemed to gather his courage. “If I sucked you off again, they would allow me to get by with just a beating.”

Qui-Gon's breath was knocked clean out of him. “ _Just a beating_ — again—”

“I didn't know it was you then, but it had to have been. And I'll take the beating. I know this is going to be horrible for you.”

Qui-Gon stared at him. “How bad a beating?”

He saw the slight quiver in the shoulders that Obi-Wan tried to conceal.

“Nothing bacta won't clear away. And I won't notice the last of it, anyway.”

“ _Obi-Wan._ ”

“What do you want me to say? That it doesn't hurt? Of course it does. But I've survived it before and I can do so again, and I'm  _not_ going to ask you to frip me.”

“ _Those_ are the options? I— I  _frip_ you or they flog you unconscious?”

“Let's discuss the stronghold's weaknesses, then let me suck you off, and we can move on,” Obi-Wan pleaded.

“Do you really think I could do that to you?”

The silence hung heavy between them, the implication obvious.

You did downstairs.

Qui-Gon groaned and sank into the closest chair. “Obi-Wan—”

“I don't blame you,” Obi-Wan murmured. “If you had refused, I wouldn't be standing here plotting our escape.”

“Could we— could I stimulate myself, and we— _Force._ Spread the results in various places so it _looks_ like we— so they don't beat you?”

“It won't fool them. Not unless I've clearly been stretched to take you in. I somehow doubt your fingers could manage that. Also, to place your come that deeply inside me... I have no idea how to do that  _without_ a fowl-baster, and to be perfectly honest, that would be just as invasive if not more so than the other option.”  
“The other isn't an  _option_ .”

“Which? That I take the beating, or that you take me?”

Qui-Gon went very still. “You are my  _student,_ Obi-Wan. You're under my care and authority. It would be beyond wrong.”

“Yes. Which is why I've volunteered to take the beating to save your conscience,” Obi-Wan concluded matter-of-factly, oblivious to the horror his words inspired in his Master. “Can we get on with the planning now—”

“You think I would let you be whipped almost to the point of death to save _my conscience_?”

“That's not how I meant that.”

“Maybe not. But that's what we're talking about.”

“Master, what  _I_ want is irrelevant. We're talking about what's right—”

“What you want?”

Obi-Wan dragged his hands through his hair. “ _Fine._ I don't want to take that beating again! Is that what you want from me? To admit I don't want to have my back torn open and sand ground in it, to nearly pass out from sunstroke, then bloodloss, then pain, then the sheer level of abuse that my body can take? Do I _really_ want to be handed over to the guards _first_ , so I'm already—”

“You said they would only beat you!”

“I _lied_!”

You could have heard a feather strike the floor.

And then a sob welled up in Obi-Wan's throat and he collapsed to his knees beside the bed.

Qui-Gon was instantly kneeling by his side, a hand on his back. “Come with me. Just escape with me tonight, and I swear we'll come back for the others.”  
“ _No,_ ” Obi-Wan whispered. “I don't want to face the guards and whip. How could I leave anyone else to them? _No._ No one is going there on my account.”  
“There'd be no point in it—”

“There's point and you know it. To prevent anyone from  _ever_ considering following my example and escaping. Lala at the very  _least_ would be taken, and he has  _only_ ever been kind to me. He has done his  _best_ to protect me, to help me adjust, and Shmi— she's been so kind. Everyone knows it. If I go missing, they will suspect she knew my plans, and then they will hurt the little one to try to make her talk—” Obi-Wan shuddered. “Every day, the threat of taking the little one becomes greater and greater. My arrival staved it off. I've done my best to try to keep the attention away from him, and on me. He's a  _little boy,_ Qui-Gon, he's  _nine._ He's next in line when I go.”

“I'm here to investigate rumors of a Force-sensitive child. Could it be this boy?”

“I've seen no hints of it, but I'm not in much of a position to  _do_ so.”

“Fine.  _Fine._ I'll leave you here. But  _no beatings._ We'll figure out some way—”

“There is only  _one_ way.” Obi-Wan twined his hands into Qui-Gon's hair and leaned into his arms. “And you won't take it. So let's just plan, and forget tomorrow.”

“I can't do that.”

“Then you'll have to take that step with me.”

“I can't use you like that.”

“Then you may as well take the whip to me yourself.”

Qui-Gon paused. “Obi-Wan... what is it you want from me?”

“I want you to save me from that beating, and then I want to help you plan a way to get everyone out of here for  _good_ .”

Before Qui-Gon had a moment to answer, warm lips were pressed against his. “Pretend I'm someone else,” Obi-Wan whispered into his mouth. “Pretend you don't know me.”

“If you honestly think that would help—” Qui-Gon growled in frustration.

Obi-Wan lightly pressed his tongue into his mouth, interrupting him, then pulled back just enough to murmur, “Then pretend you love me. Just for a few minutes.”

The problem was—

—Obi-Wan's hand against his chest, the other lightly drawn down his back—

He  _did_ love his apprentice—

—Obi-Wan's tongue, pressing against his teeth, drawing his own tongue back into Obi-Wan's mouth—

And he had been attracted, so attracted to him for the last three years—

—Obi-Wan's body pushed up against his—

“I can't,” he breathed, roughly shoving Obi-Wan to arms' length. “Stop. Get in the bed and sleep, Padawan. I will figure something out and tell you in the morning. That's an order.”  
Obi-Wan's shoulders sagged, shaking, just a little, as he obeyed without a word.

Qui-Gon didn't know what he feared most.

Whether Obi-Wan felt disappointed, rejected, or betrayed into the hands of abusers.

Not another word was spoken between them, and eventually Obi-Wan's breathing glitched into the rhythm of sleep.

Qui-Gon silently covered him with his cloak, unable to bear seeing so much of his lithe body so helpless like that.

And then he turned the lights out.

Qui-Gon tried to sleep on the couch.

Discovered he  _couldn't._

He found his way to the computer terminal and turned it on. Time to do a little more recon.

He was shocked to be greeted with an image of Obi-Wan, on his knees, sightless eyes staring up in angelic submission.

_It's his room,_ Qui-Gon reminded himself.  _When a guest is to be given Obi-Wan, they send them to_ this  _room._

It explained how Obi-Wan knew its every nook and cranny, didn't need guidance to keep from running into anything.

Qui-Gon tried to ignore the thought of how many times his Padawan had been taken in this room, his light cruelly mocked and used.

He was here for recon. For  _recon—_

But  _there—_

Why was that labeled  _punishment_ ?

He selected it, and a scream shattered through the room. Qui-Gon hastily sent the volume to barely within human range, and glanced back at the bed in fear.

Obi-Wan lay still.

If he was awake, he wasn't admitting it.

And it wasn't like he could see.

He looked back at the recording.

Felt his heart implode.

Obi-Wan writhed against the chains, blood spattering the wall, the floor, glossing his back and in his hair—

Again the whip fell.

This time Obi-Wan simply moaned, his wrists tearing inside the cuffs, and Qui-Gon could see how deeply the metal had cut into flesh already as blood welled around them, and a whisper of bone peeked out.

“He wanted to feel  _wanted_ , damn you! I  _never_ leave my guests unsatisfied—”

“I _couldn't_!” Obi-Wan pleaded in agony, tears streaming from his eyes. “You—”

“I couldn't, _Master_ ,” corrected the man, grabbing a fistful of Obi-Wan's hair and slamming his head against the stone of the wall.

Qui-Gon cringed at the stunned expression on his Padawan's face.

“You're a eunuch, not  _dead_ ,” he growled. “Next time, you will do whatever it takes to prove you want,  _need_ for the guest to do what they want to do to you. Ask me to give you a second chance.”

“ _Please_ let me try again—”

“You want to know what will happen to you, the _next_ time you don't take it up the ass for a guest? This. Only four times as bad. Do you understand? _Four._ It will take you months to recover. My men will push you to the point of death, and not one step further. Now I'm going to go have my breakfast. Rekk, make him scream.”  
And then Obi-Wan was alone with the whip.

He fought the whimpers for as long as he could, as his chest heaved and he gasped for air—

And then he screamed.

And didn't stop.

Qui-Gon shut the whole thing down, plunging the room into darkness once more.

He sat in the chair, shuddering in horror, in agony, in  _rage—_

In fear.

_That's what will happen tomorrow._

The only way to prevent it would be to come deep inside his apprentice.

_Fine._

He approached the bed and pulled the cloak back from Obi-Wan's shoulder. So pale, it almost glowed in the faint moonlight.

He lowered himself onto the bed and pressed a series of kisses along the shoulder and up to Obi-Wan's neck.  _Force,_ he loved this boy.

He would do just about anything to keep him safe from that whip.

Eyelids flew open and sightless eyes stared. “Qui-Gon?”  
“I saw the recording. I saw the beating.”

Obi-Wan stiffened and tried to pull away. “You shouldn't have done that.”

“He said it would be  _worse_ than that time.”

“ _Qui-Gon—_ ”

“You were willing to endure that to protect me, to protect us, but I cannot— I would rather lose our friendship than know you are suffering because of me. To know you are being _raped_ because of me.”

“I—”

Qui-Gon leaned forward and kissed him again. Gentle, questioning.

Obi-Wan hesitantly kissed him back. “You will hate me, tomorrow,” he whispered. “I've lost so much... to lose you _too_...”  
“I will hate _myself_ if I let them lay a finger on you again,” Qui-Gon murmured back, tracing the lines of Obi-Wan's face with his calloused thumbs. “My beautiful, beautiful Obi-Wan.”  
He felt the younger man tremble at his words.

Qui-Gon was unprepared for the way Obi-Wan turned himself over to the older man. The abandon of his surrender.

The astounding weight of trust.

As they held one another, trying to remember how to breathe once they had reached the exhaustion point, Qui-Gon had a bittersweet realization.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was no longer his Padawan.

It wasn't a matter of formality or braids—

It had everything to do with being ready.

_And he's a better knight than me._

Had Dooku offered rescue to Qui-Gon...

_I would have taken it. Tried to rescue the others later._

He wouldn't have abandoned them. He would have come back. He would have fought for them—

_But Obi-Wan was right._

_They would suffer terribly in the meantime._

Which Qui-Gon would have deplored...

And that would have been that.

_But not you._

Obi-Wan fell asleep in his arms, his body limp.

Qui-Gon kissed his forehead, and swore to protect him.  _And once I get you out of here, that includes from me._

 

* * *  
  


It was on his way out the next morning that Qui-Gon found him.

The child he'd been sent to locate.

He'd awakened to find Obi-Wan gone. It hurt, but in a way, Qui-Gon almost felt relief.

He doubted the guilt would ever ease.

Instead of seeking the wounded Jedi out, he focused on his mission.

This  _had_ to be the child. The Force twisted around him in such a strange and  _loud_ way—

Fascination took over.

It was evening by the time he realized he hadn't thought about Obi-Wan once since encountering the Chosen One.

_As it should be. As he would want it,_ Qui-Gon assured himself _. Anakin is the child Obi-Wan is suffering to protect._

Apparently, the gifted child's mother was the woman who had brought Obi-Wan to his room last night. She was kind and compassionate—

And when Qui-Gon made his offer—

She took it. Without a second's hesitation.

She would do anything to save her son from Obi-Wan's fate.

But when Qui-Gon found Obi-Wan in his room again that night and explained the plan—

Obi-Wan still refused to accompany them.

“Not until they're  _all_ rescued, Master.”

“What about the retaliation when they realize they've lost two?”  
“I will not leave them to face it alone.”

“I will come back for all of you.”  
It ended with Qui-Gon knocking him out.

If it looked like Obi-Wan had discovered the plot and been ready to call down the guards—

He shouldn't be punished for not having  _pleased_ his intended.

Qui-Gon held to that belief as he smuggled the Chosen One and his mother to safety.

Held it as he ushered them into safer waters.

Held it as he tried to form a plan that could  _work_ now that security had cracked down.

Held it as the plan was put into action.

Held it all the way to the point where he stood in a dim apothecary, staring up at the bacta tank holding his naked apprentice.

Obi-Wan's eyelids weren't fully closed, but his eyes were rolled up in his head. Bruises were all that remained of what had been done to him, and even they were fading... but they covered massive areas of his body and head.

“When did this—?” Qui-Gon asked.

The eunuch who took care of the pleasure slaves sighed. “An hour after Shmi and Ani were discovered to be missing— along with yourself.”

“But he didn't _know_ anything—!”

Lala shrugged. “The idea was that if the most favored possession could be injured this way, no one was safe. They were waiting until he healed enough to do it again— just for good measure. He's been in bacta the last two days.”

_Tell me you didn't know this would happen. Forgive me, Obi-Wan._

 

* * *

 

When Obi-Wan awoke, he could _smell_ he'd returned to the Temple. The slight fragrance of plants in the air, the taste of salt like an ocean on his tongue—

“Can you hear me, Obi-Wan?”  
“Bant,” he whispered, his heart breaking.

There was a shuffle of feet and then, “Your clothes are here, on your lap. Would you like me to get Qui-Gon to assist you?”  
“No.”

“Can you manage on your own?”  
“I'll— probably need help with the tunics.”  
“Do you want me to? Call me in when you're ready?”  
He gave a nod, heard retreating footsteps, the door slide shut, and then he allowed his fingers to explore the rough cloth.

It took him a minute to remember how to fasten the leggings. Once done, he grit his teeth against  _so much fabric_ binding his legs—

“Bant.”

She stepped back in and helped him into his tunics.

“Are the others... were they freed? Are they safe?”

“Yes. They're all here, and Alderaan is working with us on how to rehabilitate them.”

“I need to see them. First, before I do anything else.”  
“Certainly.” Bant tucked his hand through her arm and began a slow walk for the door. “I'm sure they will be very glad to see you.”

 

* * *

 

His former Padawan was beautiful as he stepped into the Council chamber, the light catching the dead eyes, making them almost sparkle, the luxuriant hair that fell around his shoulders, the pad of his bare feet—

_Bare_ feet? Qui-Gon looked again. Sure enough.

It was clear the young man was suffering from the weight and chafe of actual fabric against his skin, and apparently the boots had been just one too much.

He must have remembered from years previous how many steps it took to reach the center because there was no feeling his way, no hand outstretched, no hesitance when he reached it. One step, then feet together and a bow at the waist.

“Masters,” he murmured, his voice sultry.

His eyes widened in horror and he clamped a hand over his mouth in mortification.

Qui-Gon wanted to reach out and squeeze his shoulder, but wasn't sure if it would really  _help_ in this situation...

Obi-Wan turned away, turning red, head bowed, fist pressed to his lips—

No one breathed.

And then he turned back, raised his chin, “My apologies,” he said, in a voice nearly steady. “Apparently some things are going to take a while to escape.”

“Of course.” Windu's expression was almost...

_Mournful? I don't think I've ever seen grief visible in his face._

Then again, Obi-Wan couldn't see it either.

Obi-Wan's head swiveled to aim for where the Grandmaster of the Order's seat should be. “Why have I been summoned? I already gave my full report to Master Yoda.”

“And your Master gave his,” Windu agreed. “The two of you are here to tell us about the boy Qui-Gon rescued.”

“The Chosen One?” Qui-Gon clarified.

Mace leveled him a  _look._ “The one you  _think_ is Chosen.”

_Semantics._ “He is to be trained, of course?”

“No. Not unless you can give us a solid reason why that  _wouldn't_ be a poor choice. Can you imagine separating him from his mother at this age, Qui-Gon? How would that  _not_ cause resentment in the one we're trying to teach forgiveness and compassion?”

“You haven't found  _anyone_ who wants to train him?”

“That's not the point. The point is whether it's  _safe_ or not, and history has proven time and again that  _this_ is  _not._ ”

“ _I_ will train him, then. I take Anakin Skywalker as my Padawan learner.”

Obi-Wan's shoulders flinched.

Qui-Gon looked over at him, but Obi-Wan's shields were impenetrable without an actual assault upon them, and Qui-Gon wasn't going to do that.

“A Padawan you already have,” Yoda pointed out. “Impossible to take on a second.”  
“After what passed between us, I am not fit to complete Padawan Kenobi's training,” Qui-Gon explained. “My recommendation is that Padawan Kenobi be reassigned to another master, one who hasn't... taken advantage of him. Either that, or send him to his trials. He is ready: he is competent, and there is little more I can teach him.”

“Seems very convenient,” Windu pointed out, tone dry. “An overpowered child arrives, you want to train him, and now suddenly your apprentice is ready to be discarded?”

“Whether you think him ready for his trials or not, I wronged him. He needs to be allowed to grow without that history hanging over him.”

Mace narrowed his eyes in suspicion, then looked to Obi-Wan. “Padawan Kenobi. Do you think you are being mistreated by your master's request of the Council?”

“Master Jinn has wronged himself. Not me.” Obi-Wan took a step forward, and Qui-Gon couldn't help but notice the difference in the way the young man walked.

He used to walk like a warrior.

Now he walked like a dancer, and there was just the slightest hint of swaying to his hips.

Qui-Gon had no doubt the Council noticed it too.

Obi-Wan was too focused on the subject at hand to notice himself. “He senses the urgency surrounding Anakin, and knows Anakin must learn how to protect himself from both the dark side, and those practitioners of it who would like to bend him to their purposes.”

_Yes. Why can't they_ see— _?_

“However, he doesn't heed the warnings of what will come if Anakin becomes a Jedi, what all of you and I myself have sensed. I do not believe either leading from the Force to be false, or that one must exclude the other. I fear what happens if we ignore either.”

“Do you have a solution, Padawan Kenobi?” Mace prompted.

“Anakin must receive some training for his own protection, and that of his mother, but he is far too old to become a Jedi. His own culture is firmly set, and to try to uproot it would be to harm both him, and the Jedi around him.”

“Play out, how would that?” Yoda asked.

Obi-Wan's head turned to the sound of his voice. “The Council would confer with the Jedi specializing in the history of the Order, as well as those who study how to defend against agents of the dark side, and determine what it is that Anakin Skywalker needs to learn. The Council would then appoint a teacher, or teachers to work with him on a weekly or daily basis. He would remain with his mother, and no attempt would be made to separate them, or put distance between them. He would not become a Jedi, but someone who could hold his own should the dark ones come for him.”

“Why might he need multiple teachers?”

“A specialist in each of the skills he was supposed to learn. Also, forging real relationships with individuals in the Order instead of seeing it as a faceless Temple would give him reasons he understands to fight back. He was raised by a mother with a solid moral compass. Loyalty to friends is something Anakin Skywalker understands. Loyalty to an ideal may be harder to comprehend.”

“You believe the Sith _will_ try to lure him to their cause?” Windu asked.

Obi-Wan gave a short nod. “I do. I do not believe he will remain unnoticed, and to count on it would be to leave all of us open to attack.”

Council members exchanged considering glances.

Qui-Gon simply stared at Obi-Wan, blown away by the wisdom of this young man, who held his head up before them all— even knowing  _they_ knew what had been done to him, not just by the enemy, but by Qui-Gon himself. There was a calm acceptance about him that was stunning.

The two retreated so the Council could discuss the matter, Obi-Wan making a careful turn and taking measured steps the whole way. Qui-Gon didn't offer assistance, fearing it would be insulting.

Outside, Obi-Wan turned to face him. “Are you displeased?”

“What? Why would I be?”

“I contradicted you in front of an audience. That usually results in displeasure.”

_I fripped the child entrusted to my care. That took away all of my moral high ground._ But he certainly couldn't say _that,_ so he offered up a small, “Oh.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “You want to put distance between us. Take a new Padawan and go very far away.”

“That's not true.”

“I've lost you,” Obi-Wan whispered.

The anguish in his words tore at Qui-Gon's heart. “Not true.”  
“You look at me, and all you can see is the frip toy. How good I felt around you.”

Qui-Gon felt himself stirring and  _hated_ it,  _hated it—_ “Stop.  _Please._ ”

“So you will never look at me again,” Obi-Wan said simply. “You will shuffle me off to someone else or to knighthood, try to hide from the guilt you feel. You said I wouldn't lose you. Next time don't lie.”

Qui-Gon drew in a breath to protest—

“With the next Padawan, don't lie,” Obi-Wan repeated in a grieved whisper and turned away.

“What was I supposed to do, let them  _hurt_ you? Let them—” Qui-Gon's voice dropped to a murmur, “ _rape_ you again?”  
“I asked you to save me.” Obi-Wan's shoulders sagged. “I just wish you could still love me in spite of saving me.”

“I  _do_ love you, I just—”  _I want to fall asleep every night with you tucked against me. I want to taste you again, drown in the scent of you, bring happiness and contentment to your body and mind and never, ever let you go._

_I looked at you and wanted you. I look at you now and I still want you._

_That is what I cannot live with. You were supposed to be my son. I was supposed to be a_ parent,  _not a lover._

The Council chamber door opened again, readmitting them.

“Padawan Kenobi, we have reached a decision,” Windu announced. “Once you have sufficiently recovered from your wounds, you will take your trials. Should you succeed, you will be assigned to Anakin Skywalker as his companion, to answer his questions and spend time helping him in between Jedi specialists who will tutor him, and classes in basic education he will attend here at the Temple with the other younglings. As you suggested, you will be more of a friend than a master.”

Obi-Wan bowed. “As you wish,” he said, clearly pleased, in spite of his avoidance of either the words  _thank you_ or  _masters._

“We want you to know that we did not agree to your trials because Qui-Gon Jinn wishes to be free, but because in spite of the strike he just dealt you, you presented your case carefully and professionally. You put aside your own injury in order to help another weaker than yourself and in need, and that is the epitome of what it means to be Jedi. Well done.”

A sun was born in Obi-Wan's face, manifesting in a small uptwitch of his lips. Such a small expression, full of so much heart and meaning.

“You are dismissed, Padawan Kenobi, and I hope we will greet you next with the title of  _knight._ You've earned it.”

Obi-Wan bowed again, and his feet seemed light against the floor as he left one last time.

The door closed behind him, and with it, Windu's voice plummeted into cold disapproval. “How could you do that to him?”

“What?”

“Reject him like that, in front of all of us, and give him the resounding praise of being merely  _competent_ and that he can't  _learn_ more?”

“ _From me._ Couldn't learn any more  _from me—_ ”

“You think that was  _humility,_ Jinn? Force, that boy has more class than you will  _ever_ come close to.”

“Enough, that is,” Yoda interrupted. “Far away from the Temple you wish to go, Qui-Gon. At the Temple you will  _stay._ Make this right, you must.”

“ _Make this right_ ?” Qui-Gon asked, incredulous. “I can  _never_ make—” He dragged a hand down his face, horrified once again by how  _disgusting_ he was, an old man pining over a young boy's body.

“An adult he is,” Yoda offered, more gently this time.

“ _Barely._ ”

“Seven years into it he is.”

Was it really that long? Nearly a decade?

“And not so old are you.”

Qui-Gon was about to argue when he remembered who he was speaking to.

“Right make it, Qui-Gon.  _Then_ leave you may.”  
Given the way his feet needed to wander like his lungs needed air...

_You're forcing me to do this soon._

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

“So they chose you to be Anakin's master.”  
It might not have been the most graceful intro Qui-Gon had ever attempted.

Obi-Wan's head, resting against the window, came up. “Does that bother you?”

It did, a little, and Qui-Gon didn't know why. He was afraid it might have to do with the small title  _Master of the Chosen One._ He wasn't that vain, was he? Please, no?

But Obi-Wan had no experience, had just come away from a  _massive_ trauma, he was little more than a  _child_ still—

“You disapprove.” Obi-Wan stood, every movement full of unconscious feline grace. “I am sorry.” He bowed his head as he tried to escape the room, a posture that Qui-Gon suspected he'd picked up when trying to avoid the cruel tempers of those enslaving him—

“Obi-Wan—”

“I thought it was Padawan Kenobi, now.”

“I—”  _Does he... want distance? Is he ashamed too and trying not to admit it?_ “Please don't just walk away.”  
“It's what you want to do. Why am I not allowed?”

_Because I can't leave until Yoda thinks we've gotten this straightened out._

“What was the collar like?” was what Qui-Gon found himself asking.  _And how the frip does that matter right now?_

Obi-Wan's feet hesitated. He hadn't been expecting the turn in subject, let alone to  _that—_

“It didn't take the Force away,” Obi-Wan murmured, after a long moment of silence. “It just made it... connecting to it so agonizing, and take so much effort...” Obi-Wan closed his eyes against the memory. “It became near impossible to tap into the Force for more than a few heartbeats at a time. It knocked me out cold once or twice.”

_Once_ or  _twice? That means it wasn't one, but if it was two, why not say? You're trying to brush over that detail... how many times did you rail against its confines and end up unconscious?_

“It took  _less_ effort to conceal myself completely from the Force. It was the only way to alleviate the pain. It doesn't hide you, it makes  _you_ do the hiding.”

“I'm sorry.”  
“It's easier to forgive what they did to me. They were greedy, small-minded men, without understanding or compassion. You cutting me out of your life, after I've...” Obi-Wan paused, swallowed visibly, started again, “after I've lost so  _much_ ? You feel uncomfortable, so I must be alone now? I must face everything I've experienced, I must come to terms with it, and I must do it alone.”

It felt like a kick in the gut. “Obi-Wan, I'm sure Bant and Garen will help, and whatever Mind Healer you end up with. It's not  _appropriate_ for me to be the one you lean on now.”

“Of course not,” Obi-Wan murmured, voice bitter, “and what's  _proper_ is what's most important in this situation. As I said. Forgiving them is easier. They don't know  _how_ to treat people better.”

_And I do, you're implying._

His gaze followed Obi-Wan's path as the younger man walked away.

_What have I done?_

The accusing voice inside was ready to help out with details.  _You fripped your student, just like all the other people who came through and used him._

_And you enjoyed it._

Qui-Gon turned away, trying to breathe and discovering it to be more difficult than usual.

_He's alive and he's free..._

_But there is no way of mending our relationship._

The line had been crossed.

And while Qui-Gon desperately wished they could go back over to the parental side of the line...

_I'm not going to lie and pretend it's possible. Better a clean break than to drag it out. We both will need to heal from the loss of one another._

He would try to obey Yoda one more time, and then he was leaving.

Permission or no.

 

* * *

 

“I'm sorry if I surprised you by announcing you for your knighthood.”  
“You didn't. By the time you got there it was clear that had to be what you would suggest.”

Qui-Gon wasn't sure how to take that. “In that case, I'm sorry for the surprise when I announced I would train Anakin.”

“I was not surprised.”

_Just let me_ apologize,  _please?_ “You jumped.”  
“I warned you what would happen to those left behind should a slave escape. You chose to take him, knowing they would take their frustration out on me—”

“I did  _not_ know, it  _stunned_ me—”

“You take the second most valuable slave, and of course they will try to intimidate the others by traumatizing the first most valuable. I refused to go with you because they would take it out on Anakin. Of course taking Anakin would send it the other way.”

“I—” Qui-Gon's voice faltered as his face flushed with shame.

He hadn't actually made the connection. He hadn't put the dots together. No wonder Obi-Wan's face had been such a quiet mask of anxiety when Qui-Gon announced he was taking Anakin and his mother.  _I thought he was worrying about me. He thought I was condemning him to that brutality, after fripping him supposedly to keep it from happening._

Qui-Gon had never felt more ashamed in his  _life._

“You didn't ask me to endure it. Nor did you ask if I was willing. You just made your decision. I suspected you would want him for an apprentice. There was an eagerness in your voice when you spoke of him.” Obi-Wan's expression saddened. “You clearly felt getting him out a few weeks earlier than the rest of us worth... worth it. That love... I assumed he'd end up yours. And there were good odds there wouldn't be a Padawan to rescue when you got back.”

_You thought I left you there to die?_

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to protest, but Obi-Wan's words continued before he had the chance.

“There nearly wasn't. It wasn't difficult for them to make the connection. I routinely took clients to spare Anakin, I worked for that. Spend a night with a guest and he disappears with that client? Money is nothing compared to ego. It looked like he'd been duped before all his guests by a pleasure slave.”

“You thought I  _knew_ ? I had no idea,  _please,_ Obi-Wan, I had  _no idea—_ ”

“I  _told you,_ ” Obi-Wan choked, blinking back anguished tears. “I  _told_ you, and you saw, and you  _know_ what those kinds of men are like. You saw me utterly stripped of any dignity I had left— I  _propositioned you_ to try to protect myself. Do you think I would have done that if I felt I had  _any other choice_ ? You think I would  _destroy_ our relationship, something that means  _everything_ to me because I didn't want to take a beating? You  _despise_ me now, you can't stand to  _look_ at me, I gave up  _any_ respect you ever had for me to try to survive. How could you  _not_ know what would come? If I could sacrifice what I hold most dear, I wasn't just desperate. I was close to shattering.”

Tears slipped down Qui-Gon's cheeks, silent and terrible. He couldn't speak around the agony in his throat.

“Lala saved me,” Obi-Wan concluded when it became clear Qui-Gon wasn't going to say anything. “And he suffered for it. He won't say anything, but I could hear it. I flinched in the Council chamber because I'd assumed you'd be more subtle about your desire to train Anakin. I was stunned. I'm sorry you noticed.”

Obi-Wan stood, slipping towards the door to retreat. “I hope you find happiness, Master. I wish you only the best. I will try to train Anakin the way you would want him to be. I didn't mean to take him from you. I never meant for that to happen. The child you actually wanted, I would not have withheld him from you.”

“Obi-Wan, don't you  _see_ ?” Qui-Gon whispered. “That's the problem.”

Obi-Wan waited, face a maze of grief, shame, hopelessness.

“I  _do_ want you. I wanted you that night. I wanted you  _terribly._ It's why I resisted you so long, I didn't want to be— I couldn't— hell, Obi-Wan, I didn't want to be a  _pedophile!_ ”

Obi-Wan turned around with wide eyes. “ _What_ ? Master, I left childhood  _seven years ago!_ ”

“And there are  _far_ too many decades between us. You needed me to save you but I...  _enjoyed_ it.” Filled with utter shame, his Padawan would  _see_ him for what he was now, he—

“How could you not see? Did you not see it, when you had me. I'd thought for sure you'd  _seen_ it, that was why you were in such a hurry to cast me away. You despised me for it.”

“For  _what_ ?” Qui-Gon asked,  _baffled—_

“I  _love you._ I— have for a long time, now. Years. And when you were inside me, I was happier than I'd ever been in my entire life.” The last few words broke high into a silent sob.

“I didn't— I was—” Qui-Gon gaped at him, then fell silent.

Obi-Wan struggled to endure the silence, but he  _couldn't._ “Say something, please.”

“I was too busy hating myself for finding happiness in you to realize what you were feeling.”

“I could only feel your disgust. How— I was losing you. It made me wonder if I should have— should have  _let_ them. And then it didn't matter.”

“I was disgusted with myself for wanting you. I called you by your title to the Council because I wanted to prove I still  _respected_ you, even when I couldn't respect myself. Because,  _Force,_ I  _still want you._ I  _want_ you and I cannot  _live_ with myself.”

Obi-Wan ghosted a step closer, vacant eyes searching. “Search me in the Force. See if I lie.  _I want you._ ”

And then Obi-Wan's shields were  _gone._ Not lowered, but completely cast  _aside._ Qui-Gon recoiled in horror as he felt the agony Obi-Wan had inflicted on himself to do that, similar to ripping away his fingernails to leave nothing but air behind.

Qui-Gon reached out, hesitant to touch the raw, unprotected mind.

But he  _had to know._

And Obi-Wan clearly felt desperation, to do this to himself—

Qui-Gon couldn't imagine  _ever_ doing such a thing for  _anyone—_

And then he saw it. The fierce, strong love Obi-Wan held for him. It looked like a vine in tree form, the lower skin marred by deep wounds leaking sap.

It wasn't a child's love.

It was something that had endured through a universe of pain and humiliation, and with rescue in sight, was driven through even  _more._ It'd had to fight against the terrible storms and fire and cold—

And it was so close, so  _close_ to blooming. Qui-Gon reached out to touch one of the tiny closed blossoms, fighting to  _live,_ so close to dying never realized.

And when Qui-Gon opened his eyes, it was only long enough to drag Obi-Wan into his arms, holding him close, face buried in Obi-Wan's hair, as he sobbed and Obi-Wan's silent tears warmed his shoulder.

“Please don't leave me,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Qui-Gon swallowed with difficulty, needing to make his voice steady enough to be understood. “I'm not going to leave you to face this alone.”

Obi-Wan nodded frantically against his neck, clutching him tighter.

“And Obi-Wan?”  
“Yes?”  
“I don't want to rush this.” Qui-Gon pulled back so he could look into beautiful eyes— _yes._ Still beautiful. Still Obi-Wan's. “I want this to be healthy. Healing. I want to treat you like a prince.”  
Obi-Wan's eyes widened. “You've already fripped me. I'm not really sure why—”

He was silenced by a gentle finger over his lips. “Because you are my soul. Because you are  _worth_ every second of wait, every fancy dinner, every serenade, every whispered compliment. What has been done to you does  _not_ take value away from those things. You were introduced to sex by men who did not love you. I want to introduce you to love before we jump to sex.”

Obi-Wan didn't send back a quick reply. Instead, he thought about it.

“You know you could have me. Now. Here. I would say yes.”  
“I know.” Qui-Gon raised Obi-Wan's hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “But please let me pamper you.”

A lovely blush spilled across Obi-Wan's face, his lips parted in something that might look like a smile except for how embarrassed he clearly was.

“Your decision,” Qui-Gon whispered against the long, pale fingers.

Obi-Wan gave a solemn nod. “I want a Mind Healer involved. I want us to last. I have no idea what traps there are in my mind now, things I don't even know to guard against yet.”

Qui-Gon kissed his forehead. “We will take it as slowly as we need.”

“Will you hold me?”

Qui-Gon stepped forward, enfolded the other man in his embrace. “For as long as you need.”

“Forever,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Qui-Gon smiled into his hair. “Forever, then.”

 

 


	4. Epilogue

Obi-Wan turned the corner into the new hall and hesitated.

This area of the Temple he hadn't traversed in a _long_ time. He couldn't quite remember how many steps he needed to go— or where the precise door would be—

“Obi-Wan!” a young voice cried.

Obi-Wan smiled and held out his hand.

Anakin caught it, squeezed it tight, and leaned into his arm. “I'll show you my classroom, and then we'll go home.”

“That's very thoughtful of you, Anakin.”

He could sense Anakin beaming in the Force. “I didn't want to say  _lead._ Notice how I didn't insinuate you couldn't do for yourself because of your eyes?”

Obi-Wan's face twisted as he tried to contain a laugh. Giving up, he smiled down at Anakin. “I  _did_ notice.”

Anakin didn't seem to realize the mirth wasn't simply delight at Anakin's subtle sneakery. He led Obi-Wan without rushing him, letting him count his steps while Anakin kept silent.

Considerate, in so many little things.

Obi-Wan hadn't realized how much joy would come from shepherding a child. It was the best feeling in the world.

Except for Qui-Gon's lips against his own. They'd graduated from hand and face kisses to mouth kisses, taking their time with their relationship, following the Mind Healer's suggestions and hints as Obi-Wan tried to come to terms with what he'd survived.

There were still mornings when Obi-Wan would  _scream_ at Qui-Gon, unable to see anything but brokenness inside himself, and all around him, lashing out against the person who was  _there—_

But Qui-Gon was gentle,  _so_ gentle, so forgiving—

Obi-Wan froze. “I lost count from the door,” he admitted.

“Okay.” Anakin gently edged him backwards until Obi-Wan's hand found the doorjamb again. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Anakin led him forward, then turned, led him again...

“This is my desk.” He drew Obi-Wan's hand down to touch it.

Surprised, Obi-Wan found a scratch at the upper-right corner. Tiny letters,  _OWK._

“This was mine,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“ _Really_ ?” Anakin gasped, delighted.

Obi-Wan nodded.

And here, with Anakin, Obi-Wan almost felt as if his lost childhood lightheartedness returned in their joined smiles.

Anakin hugged him tight and declared, “It's perfect!”

And resting his hand on the short, thick hair on his little friend's head, Obi-Wan Kenobi thought,  _Yes. It is._

 


End file.
